Scars
by Ms. Authoress
Summary: She has seen too much. The past searches for her, and she remains hidden. But she will never stop fighting. She will never go back to darkness. But the scars continues to haunt her. There is little comfort she can give herself. Can a certain Elvish Prince of the Woodland Realm cleanse her wounds?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Be warned, readers. This is a tenth walker! Don't throw food at me please!**

**EDIT as of 6/20/14: I have changed the course of the first couple chapters. It will still go according to plan and you will learn who this mysterious one is, but I changed a little bit to it and chopped off the ending somewhat to make it fit in. I hope you enjoy!**

**Originally called _Fate Has Called_, I decided to change it at the very last minute. This was also going to be an LegolasxOC but also, at the last minute, I decided to change it to an EomerxOc. I love Legolas but I love Eomer even more. He is so pretty. I can't help it!**

**My inspiration comes from Deandra, who also has written Eomer stories. Her work is outstanding and if you are ever in the mood to read a good Eomer story, check out her stuff! You will not be disappointed and you will be giggling half of the time like I am. I would also like to give a big thank you to my beta reader for this story, Virtuella. Without her, this story would be nothing without her! Thank you so much Virtuella, you are awesome. :)**

**Reviews are loved. Constructive criticism are worshiped. Please let me know your thoughts!  
**

**Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own Lord of the Rings or any of its characters. The only character I own is my own OC. :)**

**Scars**

**Chapter One:  
Darkness Follows**

**Written By:  
**

_She had reached the Black Gate. Dark clouds rushed across the sky, driven by a parching wind, but now and then they broke apart and revealed the gibbous moon. By its light she could make out what was before her, and all the hope that was left was quenched. High cliffs upon either side, and ahead were two sheer hills, blacked-boned and bare. They were the Teeth of Mordor, two towers strong and tall. They were not left unguarded. They teemed with Orcs, sleepless with eyes watching everywhere._

_Her fingers sought and found the gash where the blood still seeped through her sleeve. All her other injuries, the bruises and grazes she had amassed during her wild flight in the darkness, were nothing compared to this. She felt pressure, as if a heavy stone lay on her arm and beneath it the dagger was still piercing, digging deeper and deeper. Two days ago when she lay pinned to the ground by the Morgul blade she had thought this was the end. But they hadn't killed her. The words of the Nazgul echoed in her mind. "Leave her…She will become as one of us and will be brought back to our Master. She will regret her treachery yet."_

_She mustn't. She mustn't become like them. But she would have to worry about this later. First she had to find a way to get past the gate unseen._

_She glanced up at the Black Gate and frowned as a grim thought came to mind, but she quickly abandoned it. To climb the Black Gate was certainly not an option, nor would she dare make the attempt._

_A faint noise filled her ears, pulling her from her thoughts. Turning, she looked ahead and was not certain whether to be joyous or fearful. She ducked behind the nearest stone. Haradrim, two hundred at least, were marching towards the Black Gate, each row carrying one lit torch. They were still far and it would take some time for them to arrive at the gate, and thankfully the glow of their torches helped her discern the pace of their approach._

_She still had some time but she would have to act quickly. Blending with the Haradrim may be her only chance of escaping, and it was a chance that came with many risks. But she had come this far and she would not give into her doubts. She had to be free, even if death may come to her. And if so, she would lie on soft green grass. But she feared what may become of her._

_No! It would not happen. She would fight the darkness as long as she still drew breath._

_She had little enough to disguise herself, but what she had would serve her well. She shrugged off her cloak and examined it. It was long and the fabric thin, the grey dye had mostly faded but in the twilight it was black as nightfall itself. It would hide her clothing well and even if it did not, her garments were black to match the Haradrim's and would hardly be seen. Her hood could be wrapped around her head in such a way as to resemble their face masks. The gold jewelry she wore would help her masking appear more convincing._

_Her eyes drifted into the distance. The lights of their fire still glowed dimly and the sound of their footsteps scarcely reached her ears. She lowered her eyes to her hands and for a moment, she stood there silently as a shadow filled her eyes. She shook her head, breaking herself from her trance quickly, she attired herself with the jewelry and then draped the cloak around her head so that it covered all but her eyes. With a sigh her eyes closed and she heavily leaned against the stone. The events of the past days were finally catching up with her, and the wound she bore was weighing heavily on her._

_She moved her hands to adjust her face mask but stopped when she felt a lump within the fabric. She furrowed her eyebrows. Carefully, she pulled it out without disturbing her disguise. It was a piece of parchment. She immediately recognized it. _

_It was an order, to carry out an assassination. The order was from her lieutenant; the last order she was given before her imprisonment. She had seen it before but had forgotten about it when she was taken away as a prisoner in Barad-dur. Rankling as the sight was to her eyes, she was smiling. Not only could she disguise herself as one of the Haradrim but she could pose as a messenger as well, a commander of the Haradrim party, even._

_As far as the guards in the towers knew, she was of authority over a party of Haradrim seeking passage through the Gate, a mission to execute for their master. It would be granted to her. That would be her advantage. But with it came a risk of being unveiled as a deceiver, a challenge she eagerly accepted._

_Readjusting her head garb, she tucked away her hair so that it only flowed down her back. Thankfully, her hair was dark enough to make the disguise believable. She looked back at the marching party one last time before sliding out of hiding. Bearing what little hope she had, she strode forward to the tall and looming Black Gate and gazed at the Teeth of Mordor, its towers just as tall and strong._

_In her best Harad accent she yelled to the towers above, "Open the gate! We are to go through!" _

_She did not have to wait long for an Orc to peer over the edge. He snarled down at her. "Who demands it?" He was larger than the rest of the Orcs and wore heavier armor, staring at her with black piercing eyes._

"_A messenger sent by Sauron himself," she called back, "I lead a party." She gestured behind her shoulder at the marching warriors advancing to the gate. The words were like poison on her lips but she contained herself._

_The Orc sneered and turned to another next to him and __spoke in the Black Language, which she understood, however much she loathed it__. After he finished speaking, the Orc he spoke to growled. "Do not just stand there! Go down, maggot!" the orc-in-command barked. His bright evil eyes scanned the messenger. "I have a suspicious feeling about this one…"_

_The Orc grunted and begrudgingly did as he was told. Her heart began to beat rapidly. She quickly recovered herself and stood straight and tall as the Orc stood in front of her, and hoped that her eyes betrayed no fear. "Where is your order?" he demanded._

_She was grateful for the parchment in her possession. Without hesitation, she retrieved it and held it out for the Orc. He snatched it from her hand and gazed at it before giving her another look. "Wait here."_

_The Orc returned to his superior. Her attention was drawn to the marching Haradrim. They were closer now, and continued to draw even closer, faster in pace than she remembered. Or perhaps it was the fear in her heart making it look so? But the bright flare of their torches confirmed her fears. They would soon be at the Black Gate and upon a glance at the tower, she saw there was no motive to open the gate anytime soon._

_She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. They would see. The Haradrim would see upon arrival that she was not one of them. She wore no facial tattoos. They would see her hair draped down her back and would think it odd, and they would push back her mask. She knew, for she had seen plenty of inspections of Haradrim take place to know what they would look for, and the first appearance that would give away her deceit would be her pale skin. She might pass muster in the dark, but as soon as they shone a torch in her face, they would know all._

"_Open the gate!"_

_Her attention was brought back to the tower. Before she could register what had been said, a great noise filled the air. It echoed so terribly loud that it hurt her ears, and it took great effort not to cringe. The Orc who had demanded to see her order returned to her and handed her the parchment back. He bid her no fair look before returning to the tower. She gave no regard to him and raised her head. Her heart leapt for joy._

_The noise was coming from the Black Gate, as its blackened walls slowly parted from each other. Relief clouded her. Was it true? She did not have time to dwell in her thoughts. The marching of the Haradrim no longer was a mere faint sound. The noise came to an abrupt stop and the gates in front of her stood open. She blinked once, then again, looking ahead of her. But the sounds of the marching Haradrim quickly withdrew her from the haze she was beginning to enter, and she took her first step._

_At first, it was a small step, slow and cautious. She feared that, despite her success at fooling the Orcs, they would suddenly see her disguise. Or worse, the Haradrim behind would recognize her. But neither happened, and she was soon walking away from the Black Gate as it grew smaller in the distance._

_And then she ran._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the reviews! They made my little author heart swell. :) I apologize that it has taken me so long to update. This story has gone through several changes, but it will most certainly be better now - and more mysterious. ;) As you will notice throughout the story, especially the first few chapters, there will be a lot of italics. That usually indicates Dasyra's dreams, which are memories returning to her. So I wanted to clear that up so you would not be confused, and I hope you will enjoy the chapter!**

**My thanks those who left such kind reviews - ****You all are wonderful and I take your feedback to heart! **

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**beth. rodrigues.77**

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**Reviews are loved. Constructive criticism is worshiped. Please tell me your thoughts!**

* * *

**Scars**

**Chapter Two:**  
**Awakening**

**Written By:**  
**Ms. Authoress**

_"What is your name?"_

_She hesitated. "Dasyra."_

_"Strange it is to bear such a name, and an origin I have not yet heard of. Well, then, Dasyra, let us not delay anymore. We must make haste."_

Chirp.

Chirp.

Dasyra awoke to the soft chirping of the birds. It was a different sound than what she was used rousing to, and when her eyes came to an open and the bright white light of the sun beamed in her eyes, she was startled. Her senses slowly returned to her and she became more aware of her surroundings. She laid in a large bed of many soft pillows and blankets. It was a foreign feel to her; a feel she had never felt before. The room she laid in was large and bright, and the walls painted a fresh crisp white color, the suns gleam alighting the room brightly. She moved to ease up on her elbows but the sharp pain in her left shoulder forced her to slump back down. Looking down, she slid a hand into her blood-stained tunic and pushed back the sleeve covering her shoulder, and saw that it had been wrapped firmly.

"Careful," warned a voice, "Your wound is still fresh. You are very fortunate that you are here still."

For a moment, Dasyra kept her head down as her fingers gingerly touched the bindings wrapped around her shoulder. She heard footsteps approaching her bedside and a quiet creak, but it was the least of her concern at the moment. "Where am I?"

That was when Dasyra lifted her head. A man cloaked in green and underneath wore leather garb that had been worn throughout the many seasons, sat in a chair at her bedside. His face was unveiled and revealed dark unshorn, tousled hair. Grey but kind and gentle eyes gazed down at her. "You are in Lord Elrond's home, the Lord of the Imladris," he spoke, "I am glad to see you have awoken. You have been asleep for quite some time now, and it is was a concern for a time that the wound had infected you too deep for you to be saved. But my heart is filled with joy to see that not so. How do you feel?"

"Better." Dasyra looked back down at her shoulder for a brief second before returning her gaze back to the man at her bedside, "More or less. I will thank the Lord of his home for his gracious hospitality," she said, "And I will be of no burden to him or his family—"

His smile paused her. "You are no burden to neither him nor his home, or to those here. This is the Last Homely House, where all may come and heal and take respite, and are welcome to stay for as long as they wish to."

Dasyra nodded though she remained quiet, one hand absentmindedly again coming to her shoulder. She remembered little, but she did remember the man that sat in her company. Strider, he had called himself. He had been kind to her, and took her with him and did what he could to heal her grievous wound. "I remember being in great need of help and a terrible wound, but I do not remember anything after."

"Indeed you were in great need of succor," Strider answered, "Your strength was nearly completely depleted when I came upon you, and many a times you were very at unease that I had to soothe you back into slumber. You did not awaken until nearly three days after, and afterwards you were were in and out of consciousness." Strider's eyebrows furrowed together. "You do not remember the time when you were awake?"

Dasyra thought for a moment but the moment was short, and she shook her head. "No," she said, "It is as if my memory has been washed away."

Strider nodded. He looked concerned but he spoke, clearing his throat and teetering to the edge of his char and rested his elbows on his knees. "Your wound was one inflicted by a Morgul Blade, a dark blade of Mordor. I found you barely out of reach of the Dead Marshes. Where you hither from or how you came to bear such a wound, I know not, but I knew you needed help at once. I took you further away and discovered your wound. It was beyond my ability to heal, but I was able to slow the poison. Were it not for running into Gandalf along the road, I do not think you would have made it this far. He did what he could and brought you here to Imladris, where Lord Elrond took you and healed your wound. It was a difficult task, for your wound was quickly festering your body and it was feared that his healing had done naught for you, but you still had strength left in you, and began to improve. I am relieved for that, and glad to see you are well."

_Morgul Blade_. The weapon was known to her, among many dark things that came from Mordor. It brought her no joy to hear that she had been wounded by one. "I know of the Morgul Blade," Dasyra said thoughtfully, her voice quiet. It was more to herself, but Strider heard her. "I daresay my fate would have brought good tidings should its infection had been successful." She shuddered at the thought of what may have had happened, and was even more grateful to the man. "Thank you, Strider. I owe you a great deal."

Strider silently smiled, accepting her thanks. He stood and gestured to the small table that stood in the middle of the room. "I will leave you to your privacy. There are fresh clean clothes here set out for you, among your other valuables. I am sure you would like to get out of your old clothing as soon as you can. They cannot be of much comfort to you," he said.

"No, they are not," Dasyra murmured, having brought herself up and over the edge of the bed and now sat teetering on the edge with her feet touching the floor. Even the floors felt soft. She forced a smile. "Thank you, again."

As soon as she was left to her privacy, Dasyra slid out of bed. She was unbalanced at first but after a moment she was able to stand on her feet without trouble. She quickly went to the table and fastened her pendant around her neck, sighing in relief as she felt the heavy stone settle upon her skin. Dasyra then picked up the fabric of clothing that sat before her; it was a white gown, simply yet elegant, and soft as she held it between her fingers.

"It will do," Dasyra murmured. She would take any clothing at this point to rid herself from her current attire.

With great care, she slipped out of her dress-like tunic and into her gown that had been given to her. After she was dressed she looked at her reflection in a bowl of water sitting on the table, and cringed. Cuts and scratches adorned her face. She was no longer covered in dirt and blood; even the chain of her pendant had been cleansed. Her dark brown hair had been tended to, washed and brushed and parted into two sections over her shoulders. But it was not her appearance that made her cringe. In fact, she rather liked how she looked. She looked, and felt, more like herself than she had ever before. But it was the partly revealed skin of her chest that had made her cringe.

A large scar adorned her skin. It was far from appealing and stretched farther than it led on, and the farther it stretched the deeper and uglier it was. Dasyra sighed and ran her fingers over the burn. She could still remember…

_No_.

Dasyra shook her head to herself, riding the thought from her mind. Turning away from her reflection, she tugged the collar of the dress closer to her. She hoped it would not be too noticeable. That is, if no one have noticed it already…

The Last Homely House was a beautiful home to its guest; beautiful and big, it was a perfect home, whether one was in need of food or sleep, or having the desire to hear story-telling or singing; or even just to sit and think, the Last Homely House provided it, for it was there to be a cure for weariness, fear, and sadness. It was beauty like Dasyra had never seen before. She was yet adjusted to seeing the sun, and could not remember a time in her life where a day passed that she did not see ash and shadow, and a never ending darkness and pain.

Dasyra soon found herself in a room in amidst of her curious wandering. It was large with many assortments of scrolls and papers, and lines of bookshelves filled with many books that seemed endless. It was a study, Dasyra realized. Some books were of old age and had been handled with care, and some looked in exceptional condition that they looked as if they had not yet been touched. It was meant for a scholar the study was, and as Dasyra wandered to one of the many bookshelves and withdrew a book from its place, she wondered how many scholars there were in Rivendell…

"I am glad to see you have awoken."

Startled, Dasyra quickly turned. A warm smile met her as an Elf stood in front of her. His face was ageless, neither old nor young. His hair was dark as the shadows of twilight and upon it rested a silver circlet that seemed to glimmer in the soft fore light of the room. His eyes were grey; kind they were and it was through his eyes you could see his wisdom, and within his eyes of wisdom was the light of stars. He wore a warm smile that could vanish all coldness, discomfort and fear away, his eyes just as brightening as his smile. He was tall, noble and fair looking, in likeness of a lord of his own house. Dasyra presumed this to be the Lord of Imladris whom Strider spoke of.

He smiled. "How have you found your exploration?"

If there was one word to describe the Elven home, beautiful would not define it. "It has been pleasant," Dasyra answered, "It is a lovely home, and in all my years I have never laid eyes on so many books."

Still smiling, Lord Elrond of Rivendell waved his hand to the bookshelves. "All are welcome to explore and extend their knowledge. There is plenty here for that. I hold here many books and scrolls, and even passages of old that contain recorded history." With a gesture of his hand for her to follow, he turned and led her throughout the room and passed bookcase after bookcase in their wake. "Some trace back several hundred years, thousands even. But not many. They long had been lost to ruin by war and the death of their masters who wrote them."

_A shame, _Dasyra thought, _Many of Mordor's records still remain._

"You tempt me." Dasyra stopped at a bookcase and her eyes scanned the long lines of books that filled the shelf. "I oft favor spending my time with books. I enjoy to learn of history and lore, although I think I know too much." She did not say _what_ knowledge she knew.

But she did not have to. He looked at her from the corner of his eye. "I have no doubt that you do. The knowledge which you possess is far extended than what most know and will never come to know, and darker than the tender heart can bear."

Dasyra felt her body grow numb. She stood still, making no sound nor movement. Although she gave no reaction, it was clear that he had taken her off guard with his words. She recovered quickly and turned her head slightly, and looked at him. "Yes," she replied, her voice soft, "That is true. How do you know this?"

The smile still remained but it had faded. His eyes looked sad. "You are not the only one who bears great knowledge. But how I know of your knowledge is simple. You bear the mark of Mordor, a mark branded by the Dark Lord himself."

Unbeknownst to her, her hand crept to the side of her neck where the burn marked her skin, her fingers lightly touching it. "I had hoped…"

"None would see," he gravely finished for her. "Indeed it is a painful scar and no joyful sight, and I fault you not for desiring to conceal it from eyes. But, I did not see the mark. I did not need to in order to know it is a mark from Mordor."

At the curious look he received, he continued, "There are some who are wise, Dasyra, and know what many do not and will never. You are not the only one to have knowledge of Mordor, nor you being the only one that has walked upon its earth, although you do hold far more knowledge than any of the wise could possibly have. The memories and wounds you carry are unfathomable, and there is doubt in your heart that eats at you. But I say to you, do not despair and do not give into your doubts. You chose a better path."

Was it truly, she wondered. It was strange to think that the path she chose was a wise one. She was still alive, and for that she was grateful, but in her heart there was also doubt. She should not be here. She knew she shouldn't be. But here she was, alive and having surpassed the dark wound of the Mordor. Why, she wondered. What good had she done to the world that deserved life? Would death not have been a better punishment for her? No, it would have not been. She would be a wraith by now, and she dared not to think what misery and torment had waited for her while she was injured by the dark blade of Mordor.

"Do not fret," he said to her before she could find the courage to speak. "I am Lord Elrond of and you are a guest in my home. Here in Imladris you are safe, and by no means are you a threat."

Her eyes narrowed and she fell silent, her fingers idly toying with the spiral of a book that sat tucked in a shelf. His words were true. She had wondered since she first awoken if she had chosen the right path. It was a thought that neither her mind nor her heart could settle with an answer. _Did_ she made the right decision?

"Do not allow the weaving days of the past shadow your soul," Elrond said, gently, "You have a purpose in this world. That much I know. Mend and have peace. Stay for however long you desire to or stay and make home here if you wish. Imladris will always be a home to you."

The Elf-lord's words did not leave her thoughts. It echoed in her mind throughout the day, and she often found herself trailing back to the question that refused to go away. Did she choose the right path? The shadows of Mordor would forever plague her. It would remain and follow her, a dark and looming shadow. But perhaps there _was_ hope for her. Perhaps she could find peace in Imladris. But she knew she could not escape her past. _Mordor will always follow me_, Dasyra thought to herself, _It will never leave me_.

Time passed quicker than she would have liked it to. She wandered the Last Homely House for a long while, and somehow made her way outside of the Elven home. Dark thoughts had clouded her mind, and her vision along with it, and did not pay attention to where she treaded; but the moment she took her first step outside the thoughts faded like dust in the air, and gazed upon the beauty that was Imladris. At first Dasyra thought she had fallen into a daze and was merely dreaming, but after several blinks she discovered she was, in fact, not daydreaming. And then came a mystery to her she knew not the answer to.

How could Sauron have so much hatred, desire so much to destroy a beautiful world? Not even Dasyra could find an answer to that. After being concealed in darkness for so long and the world hidden from her, the air around her but a choking toxic, she could not understand.

Before she could dwell further in her thoughts, the sharp ringing of a bell sounded, and immediately after her stomach gave a low growl, indicating its desire for feed, and that was a good enough gesture dinner was near. She had long forgotten what food tasted like and had not felt her stomach crave it for too long, but now that it was, she was quite eager to taste food again.

_Dinner was being held outside within the courtyard, in honor of the newly arrived guests, Dasyra being one among them. In truth, she felt greatly out of place. Compared to the other Elves among her, she felt as if she was not even of her own kin. She knew she certainly did not appear to be. But she knew she looked better than she did when she first arrived, and for that she was grateful. Even so, she wondered, as she settled somewhere at the long table, if she was even an appealing sight for the eyes._

_Dasyra then laughed to herself. Oh, how silly she sounded! From where she came forth from, how she looked should be the least of her worries._

"You look as if you feel very out of place."

Dasyra looked up, and lightly, "I believe that is to be said heavily. But you look no more comfortable than I."

Her company smiled, "After you have spent nearly your entire life in the wild, the life of elegance is but a distant memory each time you return," Strider said, easing into a chair next to her, "But for Elves elegancy should be first nature."

"It once was," Dasyra said, "I cannot say my life before coming to Rivendell was no different than where I sit today."

"I see you are feeling better. I am glad," Strider changed the subject. He studied her carefully for a brief moment before nodding his head. "You still look tired, but you look much better than last I saw you. How do you feel?"

"Better, I think," Dasyra replied, "I could do without the injury."

"Would it then not be much simpler?" Strider laughed, "Alas! If only. You would have benefit much from it if so. You bore many wounds but the wound you bore to your shoulder was indeed the gruesome of them all. The Athalas helped slow it but it was as if it was a disease plaguing your body. It was nothing like I have seen before. Even Lord Elrond himself said it was greatly concerning how quickly it was taking a hold of your body. It should not have fester so harshly in such a short time."

"It was no infection, though I half expected it to infect. The blade I was stabbed with had been a newly forged blade. I know because only a newly forged Morgul Blade has the ability to inflict a quicker transformation that turns one into a wraith like them."

Strider was taken aback by her knowledge, but impressed all the same. "You are very well education on the weapons of Mordor."

Dasyra smiled a little. "It is true. Unfortunately I possess such knowledge. But I saw the blade myself, and it is because of my knowledge that I know it was newly forged. I suppose that is my advantage, though I wish to have had it differently."

"Don't we all?" Strider nodded.

Their attention was adverted from their conversation as the Elf-lord of Imladris approached the long table, and gave a warming smile. Elves and Men of all kind sat together; dwellers of Imladris, Elf-maidens and lord's, travelers and guests, Strider and Dasyra being among them. Arwen was presented among her kin, seated a short distance from Strider to his right, towards the end of the table; and at the end of the table was a large chair, suited for a lord, and sitting one either side of the chair were two Elves, fair and tall. So much alike were they were, that few could tell them apart. Dark-haired, grey-eyed, and their faces elven-fair, clad alike in Elven tunics of grey.

Strider saw her gaze and leaned over, and whispered in her ear, "They are the sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir, and very close allies of the Dúnedain."

Smiling, Lord Elrond warmly greeted his guests, "Good evening, friends, old and new. May those who bear wounds eat well and rest comfortably tonight, and do so with peace in your hearts."

Dasyra met many faces and ate well, though after the first few bites she began to feel full. After having gone weeks without food but bread and water to spare her, the taste of food was foreign to her but she took great joy in it. Strider thought her appetite amusing and had even jokingly remarked had she been but several feet shorter and her body fuller he would have mistaken her to be a dwarf, to which Dasyra laughed at and agreed, though the manner she ate was far from a dwarf's manner. Not many stayed long after they had their filling, and soon it was just Dasyra and but a few guests, and the Elf-lord and his children; even Strider had long left, leaving Dasyra to linger among the rest that remained. But Dasyra did not mind. It allowed her to mingle in her thoughts, though she soon became distracted by the sunset.

"You have sat here for a while and sat silently the entire time." Elrond smiled down at her as he stood next to her, "What is it that has drawn you?"

Dasyra hid a smile at the thought how she must have looked throughout the evening. "My thoughts."

The Elf-lord smiled and gestured for her to stand, "Come, young one. Walk with me." When she obeyed and stood, the Elf-lord led his guest away from the remaining dinner and the noises that came with it, and they walked together. "Tell me. How have you found Imladris to be during your stay?"

"It is beautiful. Everything I have seen with my eyes…There is so much beauty," Dasyra replied. Her eyes drifted to the craggy hills and mountains where a bright orange glow of never ending beauty touched the earth as the sun slowly slipped away. "I have not seen such beauty before. To another, it is strange for one to be in awe of the light that shines the earth. But all that I see I shall forever admire it."

"You came forth where light does not shine. The world was hidden from you, and you were concealed in what seemed an endless darkness, and there is so much you have not seen nor do you know of," Elrond said, solemnly, "But there also comes a price: You will be looked upon on and you will not be taken heartily; beyond Imladris lies the world and some will accept you and some may never come to accept you, and should they come to know of your past they will feel aggrieved by your presence. But fear not, Dasyra, for that will not happen. You will be a light to the People of Middle-Earth and not a shadow. But you will remain here in Imladris, for even as the Dark Lord remains but a weakened soul, he will continue to search for you. No longer are you Dasyra, but you are Duvaineth, once a lost and wandering shadow in darkness but now you are a light in the world, a candle of hope to those who you meet."


End file.
